Page 34 of Untouchable

For a moment, Parker sits there, sorting through the swirl of emotions a chocolate milkshake has managed to stir up. Over the past few weeks, he’s convinced himself that Harp, at most, tolerates him, the way one might forgive a small dog for yapping constantly simply because it’s kinda cute. But then Harp does something unexpectedly tender, like sending him home with leftovers, or buying him a milkshake, and suddenly Parker feels like he’s just missed a step on a flight of stairs.

Judging by the way Harp is concentrating on his meal, it seems like the milkshake is a much bigger deal to Parker than it is to Harp.

* * *

Harp suddenly doesn't trusthimself to say anything.

He can't decide which he likes more: when Parker actually laughs or when he plays the perfect straight man for Harp's half-assed excuse for standup. He realizes abruptly that for the first time in a long time, Harp would like for this person to like him.

It feels terrible and thrilling to want to be liked by someone and to feel the hope that maybe you are. This is the type of feeling that gets Harp into trouble every time, because no one is perfect, because no one who he attaches to can live up to what he builds them into, even in friendship.

Relax and keep your feelings to yourself, Harp tells himself. Eat your goddamn seitan sausage.

Harp is halfway through his second sandwich before he notices how forlorn Parker looks.

Harp is too used to eating with his brother, he realizes. The two often sat in affable silence as soon as a meal was served, digging in until they were full enough to think about conversation again.

Harp had been so comfortable with Parker's presence that he'd slipped into the same pattern. He never had to worry about whether or not his youngest brother was judging him or if he was being awkward—and for a moment, he'd forgotten about the fact that Parker was probably not ready for complete, unadulterated Harp, including gorging himself on however many plates of food he'd ordered.

"So, uh. How'd I get into it, right?" Harp echoes, tracking back to the question Parker asked before their food arrived. "It was the only job in 1991 with writing that seemed like it would pay anything, and writing was the only thing I was any good at when I was 18 years old."

“1991, hey, that’s when I was born!” Parker says, and as soon as he says it, he looks like he wishes he could take it back.

Harp winces. “Christ, I knew you were young, but I didn’t realize you were thatyoung,”

“I’m not young,” Parker protests—words that when spoken aloud always seemed to prove the opposite to Harp. “I’m 26.”

Harp gives him a pointed look.

“So, um,” Parker continues. “Do you like it? The writing?”

The second sandwich is better than the first one—which still feels like it hasn't even hit Harp's stomach yet—and he can't help wolfing it down. He's been up doing chores since 4:50, after all, and the morning had gotten away from him. He could be eating styrofoam packing peanuts at this point and he'd be thankful.

"Do you like reading manuals, Parker?" Harp asks, tilting his head.

Parker’s brow furrows for a second, and then he gets that Harp is joking.

“Oh,” he says. “Yeah, I guess it wouldn’t be that interesting. Maybe you should switch to romance novels.”

Harp laughs loud in spite of himself. He still can't believe the kid has his own sense of humor. This is incredible. Where had this Parker been for their first three sessions?

Fourth time’s the charm.

"I have less experience with romance than I do with the whole lubing and thrusting business," Harp says, hating himself for not being able to ignore low-hanging fruit. "And technical writing prides itself on being absolutely unimaginative."

“You fuck a lot of airplanes, then?” Parker says, completely deadpan, as he takes a sip of his milkshake.

Harp nearly chokes but he grabs his milkshake and tilts it towards Parker in a dorky toast.

"Anything but fighter jets. I may have low standards, but I'm a pacifist at heart."

Harp smiles smugly and takes a huge gulp of his milkshake, earning him an instant brain freeze. Christ, he’d missed shooting the shit with someone funny.

* * *

Parker’smore than a little mortified. Where did that even come from? Luckily, Harp doesn’t seem horrified—on the contrary, it seems like Harp might at last be warming up to him.

“So, um, how long have you lived on Storm Mountain?” Parker says, once again unable to sit with the silence, especially now that he’s actually making progress with Harp.

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